


Faoladh

by TheFallenArchangel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Future, Betrayal, Character Death, Child Loss, Conflict, Evil Hunters, F/M, Gen, Good Peter, Injured Stranger, Kidnapping, Lies, Lost Trust, M/M, Mentions of Physical Torture, Missing Persons, New Breed, Not-Evil Peter, On the Run, Other, Other Pack(s), Pack Angst, Pack Dynamics, Rescue, Reunion, Revelations, Rogue Hunters, Self-Preservation, Shapeshifters - Freeform, mentions of psychological torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenArchangel/pseuds/TheFallenArchangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the eight year anniversary of Scott McCall's apparent kidnapping and murder, and all hell breaks loose when an eighteen year old kid with glowing red eyes shows up in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, terrified and almost dead. As if that isn't enough for the Hale Pack to handle, everything's about to get worse, because there's another pack moving in, and a band of rogue hunters has threatened to kill anyone, human or otherwise, who stands in their way. And let's not forget Derek's nightmares, in which unknown species of werewolf leaps for the moon in a haunting dance of death.</p><p>"Three alphas. One pack. Guided by the father and led by the brother with silver eyes. They are the Faoladh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this during the break between seasons two and three. So... yeah.

The day that Scott McCall went missing was a Tuesday. It wasn't cold, it wasn't raining, there were no stereotypical omens of impending tragedy. It was just a Tuesday. In fact, it seemed like it would be a good day. It was warm, it was a three day weekend,, and for once, there were no mysterious murders. It was nice.

Later, many would come to associate the peaceful atmosphere and decent weather as nothing more than a deceitful lullaby, designed to lure those who were closest to the teenager into a false sense of security. Indeed, their blatant obliviousness would come to hinder them greatly in the future, when the realization that something was wrong finally dawned upon them. So great was the haze of calm and ignorance, that those closest to the boy missed the glaringly obvious signals that something was amiss.

To Stiles' everlasting credit, he was one of the few who perceived some of the striking abnormalities in his friend's behaviour at school. He noticed, along with some uncharacteristic edginess, that every few seconds Scott would look toward the clock with unmasked expectancy. The brown puppydog eyes (that he was always secretly jealous of, because really, girls _loved_  Scott's eyes) that belonged to his friend never seemed to be on the teacher or the board. He was pretty sure that it was just the end of the whole 'All-New-Scott-McCall' thing, but, nevertheless, he, being the good friend that he was, made plans to corner him and force an explanation, but those were quickly crushed when he received double detentions. He didn't understand that. Was it really his fault if the substitute was simply unaware of his sense of humour? His frustration at the unfair punishment effectively shoved his concerns about Scott to the backburner.

Isaac, too, noticed anomalies in his friend and roommate's conduct. The first break in routine that he recognized was that he failed to spot the affable beta in the locker room before lacrosse practice. His original plan to ask Stiles where he was failed when he realized that the quirky human wasn't there either. He shook his head in amusement. It figured that the two would skip practice together, they did everything else with each other, and quite frankly he was surprised they didn't shower together sometimes. The heat of practice and the drive to do better quickly washed all traces of the minimal concern from his mind. It returned in full when he returned home to the McCall house, sweaty and a bit sore, to find that Scott's bike was there but he was still MIA. He did his best to assure himself that Scott could take care of himself and there was no need to worry whatsoever, and went to take a nap and some Tylenol.

Peter's interest was roused when the pacifistic teen didn't show up for pack pseudo-meeting, if you could call it a meeting. It was nothing more than movies, food, and Derek usually insisted on the occasional sparring match or two. Sometimes Allison or Danny would come, (there  _was_  that awkward time when the Sheriff showed) and they'd all take bets on the winner of the match, which Scott always disapproved of. It was unusual for the headstrong beta to simply not show up, considering he rode their asses for not showing. He inquired as to the youth's whereabouts from both Isaac and Stiles, and was slightly off put when not even Allison knew where he was. His concern was washed away however when he was knocked over by Isaac, who was looking for a sparring partner, effectively doing irrevocable damage to both his ego and the coffee table he stood by. His eyes flashed blue and pushed the beta backwards with a wicked grin.

Melissa McCall had a distinct feeling, almost instinct, something was amiss almost the second she got home. She knew for sure that the pack was having their usual weekly meeting at Derek's that night, but Scott's bike was still parked outside the house. She tried not to be too terribly worried, telling herself that maybe Stiles had given him and Isaac a ride. He'd used to sneak away to go to them, but ever since his father learned the truth of the supernatural goings-on during the whole deal with the Darach, he'd been allowed to go regularly. She warmed up some of last nights dinner in the microwave, left a note on the counter for the boys, warning them to get to bed early - it was a school night after all, and went to bed. Of course she preserved leftovers for the two insatiable werewolf boys who had just about eaten her out of house and home. The next morning though, when Scott wasn't in his room, her concern peaked and she decided to take a look around her son's room. What she found scared her more than anything the werewolf pack had so far.

Almost every bit of clothing from her son's closet was nowhere to be seen, but everything else was left alone. His lacrosse gear was all piled on the floor of the closet, the bag that usually contained the smelly pads and crosse absent from the room as well. She ran outside and, adding to her utter befuddlement, discovered the dirt bike belonging to her son still stationary beside the porch. She moved with a speed she hadn't thought she had to the former spare room that had become Isaac's and shook the teen awake, asking him if he knew where Scott was. She saw confusion followed by concern flutter briefly across the boy's face before he was out of the room like a bat outta hell and into the one across the hall.

He paced up and down her son's bedroom like an anxious bloodhound, sniffing every few seconds and muttering under his breath too quietly for her to understand much. She caught snippets of the word 'wrong' a few times as well as 'strangers', and before she could question him he was looking at her with eyes that glowed gold and instructing her to call Derek. She'd nodded numbly and dialed the number that Scott had insisted she keep in her phone, explaining the situation to the alpha in quick, impatient words. Though initially annoyed at being woken at four AM, Derek gave a grunted assurance that he'd be there in five minutes.

She returned to her son's room, only to feel slightly panicked when Isaac was nowhere to be seen. She was relieved a bit when Isaac snaked into the room through the open window, though anxiety returned in full as she took in his appearance. His shoulder slumped inward some, and he looked like a scared puppy, blue eyes wide and pupils blown large in obvious fear or nervousness. His picked at the sleeves of the button up he wore, and his eyes flickered around unendingly before fixing themselves at the wall behind her.

"Isaac?" She questioned stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulders. He went stiff under her touch but didn't pull away. His eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall, not looking at her, not looking at anything, really. "Isaac!" She said sharper this time, and his eyes finally moved to her, though the anxiety there was still on the verge of terror. "What is it? What strangers? If someone's been here, you need to tell me."

His mouth opened and he appeared that he was going to answer, before he closed his mouth and she saw his jaw clench together just before he swallowed harshly.

"About two 'someone's actually." Came an unexpected voice behind her. Melissa jumped and whirled to face none other than Derek Hale, whose eyes glowed a brilliant crimson color and who took up almost the entire door frame. The burly alpha moved across the room quickly, inhaling deeply. He leaned against the windowsill for a minute, looking at the way a few of the shingles hung at perfect angles, the only sign of Scott's obviously quick departure a single slate piece pulled at an awkward angle.

He turned to Isaac.

"Go get Peter and Cora. Scott left with two others like us, but not from our pack." He used the term 'our pack' lightly, seeing how Scott seemed to be in a pack of his own, and it was pretty clear that Isaac considered himself apart of that alpha-less pack. "I don't know how far they've gotten, but we're going to find him." The last bit he said looking directly at Ms. McCall, though the assurance in his tone sounded almost half-hearted.

* * *

Their search efforts proved to be fruitless. The trail, that went straight into the Beacon Hills Preserve, stopped cold about two miles in, Wolfsbane remains left at the base of trees ensured confusion in all four werewolves' sense of smell. It was Peter who eventually convinced an increasingly desperate Isaac to go home and get some rest, that the trio had clearly laced their clothing with the wolfsbane and trying to track them would be pointless.

The next morning, the police were contacted. If the pack had bad luck, the officers proved to be absolutely worthless. Scott had wiped his computer clean, his phone as well, and he had left absolutely no clue as to where he might be headed. It was assumed, by humans and werewolves alike, that he had left of his own accord, seeing how his room was in pristine condition with no signs of struggle. That was the only thing they were ever able to determine, and they weren't even sure.

The months following Scott's disappearance were oddly calm. Perhaps the community was just used to people going missing and dying. Perhaps loss was just becoming a trait of the town, as much as blissful ignorance seemed to be. Perhaps as a whole, things seemed to be unaffected, but if one were to look closer, they would see small groups and parties almost completely devastated.

Derek's already weak control over his pack became almost nonexistent. Fighting broke out often and it always ended bloody. Perhaps the pack could be accused, but at the same time, a majority of the blame could fall to their almost absent alpha. Isaac could barely be considered apart of the pack anymore, more of an omega than anything. Allison broke ties completely with the pack, as did Danny and Stiles, which dwindled the Hale pack to only Derek, Cora, and Peter, and the latter scarcely counted anymore. He was never with the others.

It was generally an accepted theory that Scott had either been kidnapped by or coerced into joining another pack. The other scents were foreign to all of them, and they never managed to find the end of the scent trail. It was most of the packs opinion that he'd been taken or manipulated, though that thought might be from the fact that none of them wanted to believe that the youth would abandon them.

The inevitable march of time was soon upon them, and though many would have clung to the loss and the pain that came with Scott's flight from Beacon Hills, life goes on, and so did they, though there were some pretty drastic changes.

While the Argents kept their new code of "We protect those who cannot protect themselves.", they became more rigorous in the training of their hunters-to-be.

Peter had begun straying farther and farther from the pack of his family and began spending more and more time with one Melissa McCall. He, better than anyone, understood the loss of a child. His daughters had been killed in the fire he'd survived. Before long, he practically lived at the McCall house, something that seemed to frustrate the town Sheriff quite a bit.

Stiles delved into a new group of friends at school, although he was never as happy and outgoing as he was before, and he hid much of himself from his new group. He took up an internship with Deaton and began to serve as a kind of emissary jr. to the pack, the go-between when Deaton couldn't do it all. He quickly became a sort of apprentice, and learned to treat injuries among werewolves as well as animals.

Isaac left the McCall house and got an apartment in town, taking online classes in lieu of continuing at Beacon Hills High.

Before any of them, with the obvious exception of Ms. McCall, knew it, it had been a year. Some things hadn't changed. The pack still chased down every passing omega, hoping it'd be Scott, and Deaton occasionally almost called out for Scott instead of Stiles. If ever he got in trouble, Isaac had the urge to call his friend for help, and Coach Finstock still yelled 'McCall!' during games, as if Scott had been sitting on the bench the entire time.

Time passed, and people went about their lives.

Stiles enrolled in a community college and continued working with Deaton. Derek added a young woman and her little brother into the pack.

Then it was two years.

Peter officially lived at the McCall house, and while he and Melissa weren't technically 'together', there was an intimacy with them that was almost palpable. The older sister Derek accepted into the pack was killed in a clash with unfamiliar hunters, something Derek blamed himself for.

Three years, and Aiden and Lydia became engaged, while Danny and Ethan moved in together after graduation. The twin werewolves officially joined Derek's pack, and fit in nicely with the others, despite the rocky history with Derek and Cora.

Four years.

An orphaned fifteen year old girl, Christina, was added to the Hale pack, though she was lived with and considered Peter and Melissa to be her adoptive parents. Allison began dating the hunter son of her father's friend, and began taking hunting to a more serious level.

Five years hit, and Stiles and Isaac both graduated from the college, and Isaac reclaimed his old job of helping out with Deaton, though not in an official capacity. Christina, now going by just Chris, was given the bite in order to save her life after she was diagnosed with Young Onset Parkinson's Disease. Isaac also began dating Cora.

Six years.

Isaac and Cora broke it off, though they remained on good terms, and Lydia gave birth to her and Aiden's daughter, named Isabelle. Stiles and Allison were named her godparents. Danny and Ethan were officially married later that year.

Seven years, and Melissa and Peter could be mistaken as married, though they refused to label whatever it was that they had. Isabelle's first birthday came around, and the whole pack, even a grudging Derek, showed up at the milestone birthday party that was more for the adults than anything.

Eight years.

Well, the eighth year was when all hell broke loose.

It all started when an almost dead eighteen year old kid with white hair collapsed just in front of Beacon Hills Hospital.


	2. Priest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the first real chapter of this story. Hope you enjoy. :D

Unlike on the night Scott had gone missing, tonight, rain poured from the sky above Beacon Hills like there was no tomorrow, splattering across the pavement of Main Street and surging past the grates of the quickly filling storm drains. Most of the town had taken shelter inside, where they could watch the rain from beyond glass in their warm, heated home, safe from the downpour. Most of the town.

There were several individuals that could be seen if one was actually looking, venturing out into the unusually harsh weather, and seeming to do nothing more than embrace it. A shadow that slithered along a fence, a figure taking cover behind a beat up Chevy, a flash of blonde hair appearing for a moment, and a faint red glow of eyes from the bushes. Other than the roar of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder, there was no unnatural noise to be heard. The minutes went by slowly, with shadows moving ever so often and the occasional glint of metal. There was an unmistakable tension, even if the source wasn't initially apparent. It continued to build as the torrent beat down upon them, a type of humming electricity in the air, setting each of them on an obvious edge..

A blinding burst of too-bright light cut through the air like a knife, streaking through the air, crackling and screaming and popping all at once, a spectacular and deadly show of nature.. A mere second after the flash faded, thunder exploded above them, shaking the ground and making the streetlights flicker with its power. That appeared to be all that was needed to snap the ever rising tension, which recoiled like a rubber band, setting off a domino effect that would've drawn attention, had anybody been there to watch.

A muzzle flash lit up, followed instantaneously by the noise of a gunshot that fell upon deaf ears, and suddenly, several things happened all at once. A figure exploded from concealment, moving with an inhuman speed across the street, water spraying up around his feet as he thundered through a puddle. There was a type of primal desperation in the way he moved, a terrified desperation that seemed to roll off of him in waves. This outburst seemed to be exactly what the lurking strangers were waiting for. Almost as fast as the lightning a few moments before, there were suddenly three figures moving quickly after the fleeing silhouette. They were clumsier and obviously not as agile, but able to maintain pursuit without too much effort. The trio was making no exceptional progress when it came to closing in on their quarry, in fact, their attempts looked almost pitiful. A moment of silent chase passed, when an ambush, clearly planned, was put into motion.

A glint of silver from the shadows, a blurred streak through the air, and suddenly the running figure crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, blood, and water as what was indisputably an arrow lodged itself between the person's shoulder blades. The jacket hood fell away and revealed not a man, but a teenager, who couldn't have passed for more than twenty if he tried.

Wisps of whitish blond hair clung to the face of the boy, sun-bleached and looking almost unnatural. Silvery blue eyes that showed unmasked terror flashed a brilliant crimson as those who had given chase grew closer. Rather than intimidate them, this futile act seemed to do nothing more than amuse the hunters, that were joined by a fourth, obviously the one responsible for rendering the youth immobile. Low chuckles and cold, quiet laughs rolled into the night.

The young alpha scrambled backward, reaching back at the same time in a mad attempt to pull the arrow from his flesh, although he didn't get the chance. As he moved to crawl away, one of the hunters reached forward, ripping the barbed weapon free from flesh and muscle. An agonized scream ripped itself harshly from the boy's chest as his back exploded into white hot pain, and his eyes faded back to their cerulean color as he fell forward onto his chest with a grunt and a quiet whimper.

A foot struck out, aimed at the boy's ribs, knocking him from his hands and knees and over onto his wounded back. A choked cough rang out as thick red blood congealed along the werewolf's lips, dripping down his neck, and he looked up at his attackers with eyes that pleaded for either death or release. The hunter who had both shot, pulled the arrow out of, and kicked the teenager, looked down on him with a cold smirk.

"Not so tough now, are you  _Priest?_ " He mocked, his voice full of an arrogance that would've made Charles Manson proud. The hunter reached into his pocket, before withdrawing a serrated hunting knife and crouching over his victim. "Where's your god now? Ya gonna  _pray_ for me boy?" He jeered, driving the blade into the middle of the struggling boy's stomach. Another scream made it's beginnings in the boy called Priest's chest, though it was mostly smothered by his assailant's jacket arm being shoved into his mouth. Panicking and acting mostly on nothing more than instinct, Priest bit down.

The effect of this small action was instantaneous. The hunters recoiled away, and the one who'd been bitten leaped to the side, clutching at his arm, the sleeve of his jacket quickly becoming dark with blood. There was suddenly a lot of shouting on the side of the hunters, who looked panicked and completely unsure of what their reaction should have been.

"Did he get you?" One yelled over the noise of the storm that went on around them.

"What are you, stupid? Putting your arm in his mouth, you deserved it!" Yowled another.

"What was I supposed to do, let him yell? We'd all be fucked!" Was their leader's retort as he curled his right hand over his bleeding wound.

"He wasn't wolfed out, maybe it won't take." The youngest of the group offered, looking for all the world like he wished he'd have stayed home tonight.

Whilst the hunters quarreled and panicked among themselves, their prey was on the move again. Left hand pressed into the wound in his abdomen, Priest pushed himself backwards with his right, getting a few feet away before he rolled onto all fours and pushed himself to his feet. Clutching both hands to the laceration that showed no signs of slowing down the bleeding any time soon, he tried running.

Perhaps 'running' was a generous term for what Priest was doing. It was more of an awkward, doubled over, increasingly desperate stagger. He heard two gunshots echo behind him, but neither met their mark, so he pressed forward, unsure of where he was actually going or what he planned to do. He needed help, and he needed it quickly. His accelerated healing was clearly not working, and he wasn't going to be able to go much farther without blacking out from blood loss.

Howling was out of the question, even if he somehow did manage to get the sound out. He had orders to not interact with the local pack of Beacon Hills, orders he wasn't willing on paying hell for breaking. Instead, he tasked his adrenaline charged mind with finding another source of help in this town. As he took a break, slumping down against someone's backyard fence, he recalled a long ago conversation, one he never thought he'd remember.

* * *

_Priest was eleven years old, still going by his given name, and already a pack-less alpha. He curled up into his new-found brother's side, listening intently as he was told stories of times that, to him, seemed like so very long ago. Not for the first time, he interrupted the storyteller._

_"So.. what? You could just go to him whenever you needed, no matter what pack you were from, and he'd help you?" He asked, looking up with a child's disbelief at his big brother, who gave a smile that was laced with his never-ending patience._

_"Well, mostly. See, Doc never wanted anyone to get hurt. It didn't seem to matter to him where you were from. If you were hurt or dying and there was something he could do about it, he would. Even if he was supposed to be loyal to just one pack, he helped everyone who needed him."_

_"What if you were too far away and it was an emergency though? Did they just die?" Priest asked, voice small, and scared, like they might be in the area of his stories (he refused to call them bedtime stories) tomorrow and there might be an emergency. His brother chuckled a bit._

_"Well, we could always go to the regular hospital. There were some people there who knew about us, and if they figured out what you were, they'd take care of you until you could get to the right place." Priest noted the affection in his brother's voice, the kind that he himself used to use when he talked about his family._

_"You loved them, huh?" He asked suddenly, though color lit up his cheeks immediately after. There was a long moment of silence._

_"Yeah, yeah I did."_

_"Then why aren't they here? Why don't we ever see Doc or any of those nice people at the hospital?" He saw his brother flinch and regretted the question._

_"That…. that's a story for another night kiddo."_

* * *

The memory echoed through Priest's mind, as he realized what his options were now. He had to chose between two places, and the lesser of two evils seemed to be the Beacon Hills Hospital. He thought back to the maps of town he'd surveyed this morning when he'd first stepped foot within city limits. He fought with his mind, which was becoming dimmer as the adrenaline faded, recalling the image to the forefront of his mind as he staggered to his feet, pushing himself up against the fence. Praying that he was moving in the right direction, the alpha began the painful journey toward his last hope.

With each step, the pain that racked his body seemed to double, triple, quadruple. He shook with the effort it took to remain upright, and focused on each stride, each shuddering breath he took, and each stabbing pain in his gut.

By the time he saw the lights of the hospital, heard the screaming sirens of an ambulance, and smelled the acrid scent of death, sickness, and soap, Priest was barely standing. Each time his foot touched the ground, his knee would almost give, and each time he fell, it took more and more effort and willpower to get back to his feet again.

He'd hoped that by trudging through the mostly flooded ditches along the road, he'd avoid detection from other werewolves and hunters, but that precaution now provided a new challenge, climbing himself out. With water almost up to his hip, he removed his hands from his wound and sought purchase on the few holds he could grab at the top of the ditch. It was harder than perhaps anything he'd ever done, but he eventually managed to free himself from the watery trench.

This small victory was short lived, for as he made to cross the street to enter the hospital, he failed to check the street for approaching cars - and apparently the man who was speeding while driving a black SUV wasn't exactly watching out for pedestrians.

He didn't really feel it, not all the way. He saw it, heard it, but his already numbing mind didn't register the twisting of bones and metal, the collision of flesh and glass, or the sickening scrape of skin against gravel. He barely could put together the pieces of his mind to fit it together the thought  _I've just been hit by a car._  Instead, he tried with all his might to stay awake. He had to.

_"If they figured out what you were, they'd take care of you until you could get to the right place."_

He had to stay awake. He had to let someone know what he was. Somebody needed to know that he wasn't human. They needed to know, or they wouldn't know how to take care of him.

The blurry, uneven silhouette of a woman kneeling beside him filled his vision. How was he supposed know if she would understand, if she knew what werewolves were?

_"If they figured out what you were.."_

She smelled like one. He realized with a jolt. She smelled like a werewolves. Smelled like she lived with several of them, but she wasn't one. To his exhausted, wounded mind, and to his broken body, nothing made sense. Nothing mattered really. So what if she knew? He was probably beyond repair anyway.

She was asking him something, but he couldn't hear her properly, so he didn't even try to answer. He felt a hand on his cheek, brushing at something, and he realized he was crying. She was yelling something about help now, and the way she yelled stirred something in him. It wasn't a normal yell, it was like something that pierced through his being and he had to reply to her in some way, had to let her know he was still awake inside himself.

"I.. I don't.." He could barely speak, he was choking on his own blood. "..don't.. don't wanna die. Can't.." He coughed again. "Can't leave my pack. They.. they need me."

She was consoling him, he thought, but the look on her face… She understood. She knew. She'd help. With this thought in mind, he looked up at the crescent moon above her head, barely visible beyond the clouds.

Rain beat down upon his body as the world started slipping into the inviting waves of unconsciousness. "Don't wanna die.." He murmured again.

Then it all went black.


	3. Nightmares

Derek was surrounded. He was standing stone still, eyes glowing red and elongated fangs reflecting the moonlight that lit up a night that was unnaturally still and yet at the same time filled with noise and motion. He was in the circle of surging beasts, wolves almost as tall as him dancing and howling in an eerie, haunting melody that wound around him like an icy current. He watched with an terrified sort of awe as the many creatures became one, their movements so fluid that they appeared to be a stream of heat, fur, bone, and flesh. Browns, greys, and silvers blended into a kind of natural meld, beautiful and yet at the same time igniting several conflicting instincts within him. He wanted to fight his way out, to run as far away as he could from these beings who could rip him to shreds in seconds, yet at the same time he wanted to stand right here and watch for as long as he could.

He supposed he should be wondering where he was, but he couldn't hold onto the train of thought for long, before his attention was pulled back to the creatures that seemed to soar around him. Then, quite suddenly, they seemed to become incredibly agitated. Several growls rumbled around him, and heads tossed this way and that, giving him a sudden view of eyes that glowed brilliant golden and icy blue. It was this peculiar view of those who encircled him that struck something, a realization he felt stupid for not noticing earlier. The pack, for they were too acquainted and responded too well to each other's body language to be anything else, had no alpha among them. No pair of eyes glowed ruby red in the darkness.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, Derek began noticing little things about the pack, little details that'd been masked by the bigger questions he'd been answering moments ago. Despite the confidence in which they carried themselves, there was an underlying current of nervousness amongst them, shown with the occasional pinning back of ears and bristling of tails and hackles, the haltering of a howl. They were waiting for their alpha.

_Three alphas._

Derek whirled around as fast as his body would allow him to as a whisper brushed against his ear. As he turned, he was unnerved to discover that there was no apparent source of the voice, a quiet one filled with fear and anger and awe. He tossed his head around like a caged animal - which in a sense he was - and growled quietly in response, as if it were one of the dancing wolves who'd spoken to him.

_Three alphas, one pack._

Derek whirled again, an odd sort of fear nagging at the back of his mind. Was he insane? It wouldn't surprise him too much. He felt insane sometimes. He was called insane often. Maybe he'd actually lost it, but if he had, then what was this? Was this some sort of madness-initiated hallucination? Experimentally, he stepped toward the living wall, curiosity outweighing caution. He was met with the sharp reprimand of teeth against his shoulder from a silvery brown wolf with brilliant golden eyes. Her gait barely faltered as she snapped at him, rearing back almost instantly and returning to her spot amongst her pack.

_Guided by the Father. Led by the brother._

Again, the voice whispered to Derek, and again he whirled about to be faced with no explanation. The pack didn't seem to have heard, or if they did, they didn't care. A moment later, he heard a distinct change in the wavering howls, changing from anxious to excited. The tempo of paws hitting the ground seemed to increase, and once more the voice chimed in behind Derk's ear.

_Led by the emerald eyed brother. The Faoladh._

The last word, that unfamiliar word, Faoladh. It stirred something inside Derek as he struggled to comprehend what the bodiless voice was telling him. It was completely foreign to him, yet at the same time his bones seemed to quiver as he repeated the word to himself in his own whisper.

_Faoladh. They are the Faoladh._

The voice seemed to encourage the way his mind was going with the cryptic information it was given, it's tone was encouraging, satisfied. Despite his initial urge to not become distracted by this train of thought, a thought stung about by a voice without a body, he found himself thinking even harder upon the topic. Emerald eyes? What kind of werewolf had emerald eyes?

_The Fáidh. The Faoladh led by the Fáidh._

This seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Confusion warred with the defiance of a trapped alpha, and Derek began looking for a weak chink in the armor. A low growl rumbled through his chest and he made a few false charges at the line, leaping backwards before the slashing teeth met his body. He considered the possibility of perhaps leaping over the wolves that leapt for the sky like birds, but on his first attempt he was met with the teeth and paws of a grizzled gray male with blue eyes, who reared up on his hind legs to force a furious Derek back to the ground. The slash that dripped blood down Derek's face was enough to convince him not to try that particular method of escape.

As Derek began to consider another route to freedom, the howls stopped, and the wolves that encircled him slowly came to a shaky stop, although ears still twitched, tails still quirked, and hackles still rose and fell. Derek counted nine of them, varying from pale silver to almost black, and considered another attempt at escape. As he initially moved to try once more, something else stopped him cold.

They come. The brothers. They come! Bringers of calm, bloody chaos.

The return of the voice stilled Derek, and he moved his own eyes to where the entirety of the pack seemed to be watching from. Suddenly, the circle opened, part of it compressing inward, and for a moment, Derek considered fleeing out of it, but he found himself physically unable to move. Then he saw the glow of red in the distance.

Two wolves, larger than the others, stalked out of the surrounding forest, shoulder to shoulder. Heads raised and chests thrown out pridefully, they approached the pack. One was snowy white, and his counterpart was a dark brown. Tails high, they took their spot at the outside of the gap, gaining tail wags and quiet barks from a few of their pack. A low growl issued from the darkness outside of the formation, and Derek knew he was staring at what the voice had called Fáidh. Eyes that glowed an unnaturally bright shade of green became visible, pools of molten gemstones that seemed to sink into his very being.

The Fáidh's fur was jet black, the only thing truly visible at a distance being his spectacular eyes, he was largest of all the pack, and was clearly in complete control. He stalked forward, moving with a type of arrogant saunter that pushed the two alphas to lower their heads and tails in wake of his approach. As he stepped into the final opening in the halo, and suddenly all muzzles were pointed at none other than Derek Hale.

Derek refused to retreat out of spite as the devil wolf, for in his eyes, he looked like a demonic being, an actual part of the darkness, stepped toward him. With a single lash of his paw, Derek was on the ground, pinned beneath the Fáidh's paw, sporting a gushing wound on his stomach. His very DNA balked against this. He was an alpha! It was against everything he was to submit to anyone! He thrashed for as long as he dared before another graze of teeth set his left hip on a one way journey to blood loss. After that, he finally stilled, looking away from this being, submitting. It was humiliating, and Derek felt his eyes fading to their normal hazel, his body becoming human again.

Finally, he dared to look back up at his assailant and as he did so, the voice that had haunted him through this whole ordeal began speaking again.

_Don't tempt the Faoladh. Don't tempt the Fáidh, lest this come to pass Derek._

"Derek!"

* * *

Derek Hale awoke, panting and covered in a thick sheen of sweat. He choked for breath and pulled himself upward, running his hands over his skin repeatedly as he assured himself that it had all been just a dream, though he'd never experienced a dream that vivid, ever. So profound was his confusion over the reality of his dream versus the reality of the waking world, it took him a moment to realize that he hadn't woken up - He'd been woken up. He blinked and tried to put on his best 'I'm-really-fucking-annoyed-you-better-have-a-good-reason-for-this look as his focus switched to Aiden, whom had backed away from his bed and retreated to the doorway.

"What?" He grumbled as he pulled himself over the bed and stood. "It's two thirty in the morning. What's wrong?" More alert now, he noticed the nervousness written in the young alpha's body language. It was unusual.

"Uhm.. Long story short?" Aiden asked with a quirk of his eyebrows as he hid the anxiousness that practically rolled off of him in waves, "A werewolf just checked into the hospital. An alpha. From the looks of him, he was hit hard by some hunters who must've followed him here."

"Wait.." Derek said, pausing midway into the hall. "How do you know an alpha checked into the hospital at two in the morning?" He asked, then backtracked, "How the hell do you know he's an alpha, anyway?" He wasn't sure how these questions hadn't registered before.

"Isabelle started running a fever this afternoon and it hadn't died down. Lydia called the doctor, and they said to take her to the ER." Aiden explained, voice warming slightly when he mentioned the name of his daughter. "Apparently he was trying to get to the hospital and he got hit in the parking lot first. Lydia had been outside calling me and was the first to get to him. He started muttering about not wanting to leave his pack behind. She swears his eyes flickered red for a second, and she's usually not wrong about stuff like this."

Derek's nose wrinkled as he entered the hospital, the scent of soap and anesthetics burning his throat a bit as he breathed at first. He was met, to slight surprise by Melissa McCall, who gave a slight smile as she saw him. He did his best to return the smile, but it came out looking forced and faked. Obviously she'd been informed of the situation, because before he could say a word to her, she nodded her head.

"He's right this way." He watched as she picked up a clipboard and started walking. He fell into step behind her, Aiden dashing off to find his wife and daughter. He smelled Peter on her, like usual, and it made him feel a bit better. It was, after all, almost the anniversary of Scott's disappearance, and a few weeks ago had been the marker of his actual death. His mind flickered to the night they pretty much knew Scott died.

It had been a completely normal day. Nothing of great importance had happened, except the slight intrusion of an omega, who'd quickly realized his mistake and left.

* * *

_Derek sat on the steps to the newly renovated Hale house, watching the two betas - Cora and Isaac - spar like there was no tomorrow._

_Without warning his, his body exploded in mind numbing pain. He groaned sharply, body curling in on itself a little in an attempt to fight off an invisible enemy. It was like a rubber band had been stretched from him for miles and miles and it had suddenly just snapped back and he'd been hit in the recoil._

_He identified the feeling, and a white hot flash of fear boiled through him. He'd felt it all those years ago, sitting in school while his family died. He'd felt it when Erica had died, though he hadn't known what it was then, and he'd felt it faintly when Boyd had died. He'd even felt it when Lizzy, who'd been accepted with her little brother had died at the hands of hunters. This pain meant the loss of a packmate. This pain was familiar, and he didn't want to know who was dead this time._

_"Derek!?" He felt hands on his side, checking for injuries._

_"..."_

_"Derek!"_

_"Somebody's dead."_

_"What?!"_

_"Someone is dead. Get the pack here. All of them."_

_"You've gotta be kidding-"_

_"Just do it!"_

* * *

It had been three months shy of a year, and it went unspoken that it was Scott that died for another month after. They didn't want to admit it, because admitting it made it real. Peter had told Melissa the news, and the pack checked in on her often, because what had been devastation had turned into barely functioning. The news meant her son was dead and there was no way he would be coming back, and it almost killed her.

Derek was pulled from his depressing chain of thought when Melissa stopped at the door and waved to it vaguely.

"He's in there. He's pumped full of painkillers and he's not awake yet. Right now, we don't want him to. We've got him on several IVs, trying to replenish his body." There was a tone of sympathy in her voice, a type of pity that was unusual for her.

"What do you mean, 'replenish his body'?" Derek asked, looking through the door, not really being able to see for the angle.

"What I mean, is that this kid's barely breathing. I don't even know how he walked himself in here under his own power, even without the injuries." She said, looking in at him. "He was so dehydrated when he got in here.. and he's starved. You can see every bone in his body. I don't think he's eaten anything substantial in at least two or more weeks. Honestly, werewolf or not, I have no idea how he's alive."

"Well, that would explain why he came here, he literally couldn't heal himself. His body didn't have it in him."

"Yeah.. Look, I've gotta go do rounds. Don't try to wake him up." She fixed him with a stern look before turning and going back the way they came. Derek tilted his head and entered the room.

Melissa was right. Even with the hospital blanket over him, he could still see the faint outline of the kid's bones. He was emaciated.

He stepped closer, eyes ghosting over the extremely pale hair, dirty and still harboring a little bit of blood, and the face that - for a person his age - should've been innocent but seemed weighed down with fear and responsibility, even in sleep. A gash ran deep above his left eye, stitched shut, and another one ran from behind his right ear along his jaw.

Derek was going to move even nearer to the young werewolf, but was stopped in his tracks when the heart monitor attached to his wrist skyrocketed, the beeping increasing to what must've been dangerous levels and said werewolf whimpered quietly, moving his head a little. The sounds continued, fearful and agonized. It took him a second to realize that the teenager was still sleeping, dreaming.

"No.. no.. please." He whined, shoulders moving weakly as if bracing himself for an impact. He whined a few more times before falling almost eerily silent. Though he was no longer vocalizing his panic, the heart monitor kept up its marathon pace until Melissa arrived to increase the medication.

Derek wasn't the least bit surprised to see Peter right behind her. Of course he'd shown up. As soon as the meds were administered, the youth's heart rate slowed steadily until it was back at a normal pace.

"What happened?" Melissa asked tiredly, in a way that sounded so worn down he almost wished she'd be angry, accusatory. "I thought I asked you not to try and wake him."

"I didn't." He defended himself. "He was dreaming. Having a nightmare." He paused, and looked to Peter, who was looking at the medical chart that hung at the end of the bed, before posing a question that'd been eating at him since he'd arrived. "What does this to an alpha? What drives an alpha to push himself so far past his limits? What scared this kid so much he's having nightmares about it?"

Peter glanced at the report, evidence of stab wounds in the abdomen and upper back. He looked at his nephew, expression grim.

"I think the real question is 'who'."


	4. Recovery

Priest faded into consciousness slowly, though as he edged closer to full awareness, his heart began to race. His senses were flooded with an onslaught of new information: the stench of anaesthetics, sickness, and disinfectants burned his nose; there were periodic and sporadic beeps from machines that seemed to be all around him; and even with them closed, the fluorescent lighting overhead burned his eyes.

He made to shift his body to inspect the damage done to him, but stopped, stifling down a whimper. Everything _hurt_. To him it seemed as if the entirety of his body was a raw nerve, worked over with steel wool and sandpaper. His head throbbed painfully, twinging occasionally with the noises from the equipment. With every breath he took in, his chest burst into agony, and experience told him that such pain meant broken ribs.

Little by little, he moved each part of his body, occasionally having to hold back soft sounds, to inspect what had been done to him. On his back, where he'd been shot with the arrow, he felt the pull of stitches. Further inspection revealed three more sites where skin had been sewn back together: the stab wound in his stomach, a laceration just above his right eye, and a long gash that began just above his waist and continued to midway down his hip. He almost snorted at the idea of a werewolf having stitches, but caught himself before doing so, not wanting to find out the kind of pain such an action would bring about.

In addition to the sutures, he also noticed the presence of several IVs embedded his skin. On the top of his hand, on his forearm, and even one in his neck. They weren't necessarily painful, but in their own way they alarmed him, because he knew what most IVs were for: administering medicine. If they were still giving him medicine in order to treat his injuries, then he still wasn't healing properly. The thought made him nervous, and he began wondering how long he'd been asleep, because surely his healing ability would have reestablished itself by now if it had been more than a few hours.

He attempted to open his eyes, though as he did so, he was blinded by the too bright light and flinched away. A soft groan echoed through the room as he slowly sat up. Reaching up with the hand that was free of the tubes, he pulled the IV free from his neck. He felt the warmth of blood against his skin and cursed quietly. Using the same hand, he reached toward the side table and grabbed a scrap of gauze in his fist. He put it against where the IV had formerly been and pressed down, hard, hissing softly. It didn't take too long for the bleeding to stop, and he repeated the process with the other two.

Able to move his right arm more freely, he ripped away the sticky little sensors that littered his chest and stomach. Moving gingerly, he slid his legs off the bed to sit sideways. On a chair beneath the window was a plastic bag, inside it he recognized his clothes and other belongings. He reached for it, opening the seal and splaying it's contents across the bed. He picked up the jeans, putting them over his lap. moving his belongs around, he grabbed at a silver chain, fingers brushing the pendent briefly before pulling.

It was about the size and shape of a quarter, silver and smooth. One one face of it it was an engraved cross, it's design almost celtic. On the other side the word 'Deartháir' was inscribed in small letters. He eyed it with affection that bordered on actual reverence. After a long several seconds, he finally pulled it over his head. Deciding that his shirt was done for, he left it on the bed, pulling the jacket toward him. It was black, so the bloodstains wouldn't show too much.

Shedding the gown and replacing it with his clothes was harder than Priest would ever admit to it being. By the time he had managed to dress himself, tears welled in his eyes and his breath was jagged and rough, which in turn only hurt his ribs more. Regaining control of himself, he sought the hospital's exit, making an effort not to limp and ultimately failing, though he considered the fact that he was even able to walk without crying out a victory in itself.

His attempts to remain inconspicuous seemed to have worked, because he made it downstairs and past the front desk without being spotted or stopped. As relieved at his luck he was, he didn't catch the scent of the werewolf coming at him until it was too late and he felt a hand close over the back of his neck.

He growled lowly, but, remembering where he was, he kept his head, refusing to give in to the instinct that told him to shift.. Too disoriented by a mix of pain and weakness to do much about it, he had no choice but allow himself to be pushed into a mostly deserted hallway. He finally managed to wrench himself away from the older male, though the motion made him cringe. His eyes flashed crimson as he looked the other man up and down, sizing him up despite the fact that he was in no condition for a fight. He was strong, obviously in a pack by the smell of him, a beta. Experienced.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing?" his assailant asked, his voice a curious mix of disdain and sarcastic disbelief. "Whoever did this.." he motioned vaguely to Priest's body, "obviously is good at what they do and wanted you dead. Do you think that if they find you when you're this messed up they won't kill you? Or that you'll have the strength to fight a fucking bunny off, let alone what I'm assuming are trained hunters?"

Startled by his reaction, Priest stood there, dumbfounded for what must have been at least a minute, unsure how to respond to the searing blue glare he was receiving. This was way out of the realm of usual. Mostly, packs drove him out or would simply ignore him, but it seemed as if the Hale pack, or at least this member of it anyway, actually cared if he ended up dead. Finally, he regained his sense of vocabulary.

"And you care whether I live or not, why exactly?

"Me, personally? I don't. Not really. Sorry." he deadpanned, before continuing with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I sort of-kind of have orders to make sure you stay in this hospital, and they aren't just from my alpha, they're from someone who scares me much, much more, but that's besides the point. We don't tend to let people walk right into the jaws of death around here."

Priest wouldn't have been the least surprised if the beta had put his hands on his hips as he spoke.

He couldn't ponder on it for much longer, however, because he felt the spread of warmth on his neck, dripping down his collarbone and chest. He reached for where the IV had been earlier, and drew his hand back covered in blood. He cursed quietly as the liquid spread and increased in volume with each heartbeat. In pulling away from the Hale beta, he'd opened it up again. He pressed his thumb against the small hole, hoping to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail.

"What the hell?" The other man's voice cut through his haze of ever growing panic, because his vision was fuzzing around the edges, a symptom he knew well as one of blood loss. His hand shot out, and he groaned as it pulled at the stitches on his back, grabbing the older man's shoulder.

"You have to get me out of here." He said urgently, barely able to keep his focus on what he was saying. "I cannot stay here, do you understand me!?" His words were quiet, but they held a weight in them that he almost didn't recognize. "If you leave me here, they will come for me. They don't care how many humans the have to kill to get what they want, and right now, what they want is me." His legs shook and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he was going to black out. "I don't care if you take me and leave me in the middle of the fucking forest, just get me out of here!"

He barely had time to gasp out the word 'please' before he was enveloped by the darkness.

* * *

Priest faded into consciousness slowly. His nose wrinkled as he was assaulted with the now familiar smell of anaesthetics, soap, and sickness. For a moment, he was absolutely certain that the member of the Hale pack he'd met had taken him back to his hospital room. A loud outburst of barking soon eliminated that possibility. He groaned softly and opened his eyes, squinting against the light. What was it with people in this town and lights that were brighter than the sun?

He was laying on a metal bed in a room that reeked of animals. His jacket and necklace were gone, leaving him barechested and a little bit cold. The stitches on his back, stomach, and hip remained, but the ones above his eye had been removed, and as he reached up to inspect it, he was somewhat relieved to discover that the wound had mostly healed. Rather than discomfort, he tasked himself for identifying his surroundings.

So strong was the scent of dogs and cats that he almost didn't pick up the other ones. Almost hidden but not quite, were three others. One was a werewolf, but the other two were human. There was one older than the other two by a lot, but he was a human. One of the younger men were the werewolf, also from the Hale pack, if he wasn't mistaken.

Groaning he sat up. Around the room was scattered medical equipment and posters of animal anatomy. A vets office. He took him to a vets office. Unable to stop himself, he chuckled lowly, gasping and clutching at his side as he did so.

"Oh look, he's not dead."

He whirled toward the voice quick enough that it hurt but not so much that it was unbearable. The speaker was a young man, older than himself. He was in his mid twenties, with short, dark brown hair. His brown eyes were alight with a happy energy that reminded Priest strongly of an excitable child. Behind the first one was a second, about the same age, but a lot taller. Curly brown hair and blue eyes combined to give him the look reminiscent to that of a puppy. It was the second one who was the wolf, he decided.

"Don't get me wrong, I like to impress." he said, gesturing toward his body. "But uhm.. Where are my clothes?" he asked, standing and eyeing the pair. They both looked uneasy, which was understandable, but the curly-haired one had this look on his face of fearful understanding that was uncanny. He knew that to them it was probably grotesque the way his skin stretched tightly over his bones. They probably pitied him for the scars that littered his body - namely the large one on his back, where two very large slashes had met to create a crude cross in his flesh, the root of his nickname. We was proud of it though, as odd as that may seem. To him, each scar was a story, something his survived, and his skinniness was a reminder of how long he'd been fighting.

The shorter one shifted, looking awkward. Before he could say anything though, the blue eyed one interjected with an explanation.

"Yeah.. about that. Those are trashed. We had to cut the jacket off of you because we couldn't figure out where the bleeding was coming from. And if you wear those jeans much longer you're going to get infection in those cuts on your legs, especially that one." he motioned toward Priest's hip vaguely. "You can wear these, they should fit." He added, pressing a bundle of clothes into his hands.

"Uhh.. Thanks." Priest was disoriented. Kindness toward him from local packs was something he had virtually no experience in. He almost wished this had turned into a fight. A fight, he could handle. Go on instinct, make it up as he went, and run if all else failed. This? He had no idea how to handle this.

"No problem. I'm Isaac." the beta reached out to shake his hand, and he returned the gesture after a moment of unsure hesitation. "This is Stiles." He added, jerking his head toward the other man.

Priest fought the urge to stiffen. He knew those names. He knew them incredibly well. Isaac Lahey and Stiles Stilinski. People from the stories he'd heard for years, stories his brother would tell him in hushed tones whenever they needed to be quiet, or whenever he'd awoken from sleep after being terrorized by a nightmare. Stories he heard countless times when he was learning to control the shift, ones he came to crave.

He blinked and let his hand drop to his side limply. He picked up the shirt Isaac had handed to him, pulling it over his head. He hissed as it fell into place, but otherwise made no indication of how it had hurt him.

"How long have I been asleep?" He asked Isaac as Stiles disappeared into what he was assuming was the front office or waiting room area. Isaac looked thoughtful at the question.

"It's been about four days since you first ended up in the hospital. You only got here last night though." he said after a moment of thought, turning to straighten out some of the vials and containers that lay haphazardly on the countertop. "Didn't catch your name, by the way." He added, looking over his shoulder and catching Priest's eye.

"Just call me Priest." he answered simply.

"Oh, is that from the... ya know..?" Isaac gestured vaguely to his back, mimicking where Priest's cross-shaped scar was. The younger male shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, you're fine physically for right now. The Doc'll take another look when he gets in later today, just to make sure."

"Thanks again."

"It's not a problem."

They lapsed into comfortable silence, with the exception of the few sounds Priest made as he painstakingly changed his clothes yet again. He helped feeding the dogs with Isaac, mainly out of want of something to do, and he wasn't really sure he was actually helping at all. He got the feeling Isaac was only humoring him. The next hour ticked by painstakingly slowly.

After what seemed like an eternity, the squeak of the front door piqued Priest's interest. He almost went to go look and see if it was the Doc, the man he'd been itching to meet for years, the man who, in the past, had been very much like a second father to his brother.

As he stepped toward the door though, the voice of the visitor stopped him cold in his tracks.

"Hello. My dog got loose the other night, and I was wondering if anybody brought him in." Heart racing, Priest's eyes flashed crimson and he backed into the corner of the room, with wide, terrified eyes. A barely audible growl slipped from between his teeth. Isaac came out of the dog room and looked at him, eyes glowing yellow and flicking between the young alpha and the door. He stepped as if to make his way to investigate, but Priest growled lowly in warning, keeping him barely at bay as they listened further.

"Well, we haven't had any new admissions in the past few days, but if you give us your dogs information, we'll keep an eye out for him." Stiles suggested, oblivious to the danger.

"Alright. He's a wolf dog. I have a license for one. He's just.." The man's voice raised a little bit. "He's like a part of the family. And there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect my family." Thankfully, his tone seemed to clue Stiles in, and his voice was tight but firm when he responded.

"We'll keep an eye out and call you if we get anything."

A few seconds later, they heard the door shut. Isaac turned to Priest, who in the past few seconds had pushed himself out of the corner and checked the lobby for scent to confirm what he already knew. Stiles burst into the examination room.

"Alright, who the hell was that!?" he demanded, throwing Priest a dirty look.

"His name's Tobias. He's a hunter with a vendetta out against my pack. It's a really long story that I don't have a lot of time to go into detail on. He doesn't care who he kills. Human, werewolf, emissary," he shot Stiles a knowing look, "It doesn't matter to him. I'm supposed to lure him and his little coven away from most packs. I was only supposed to be cutting through Beacon Hills for one night." He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it as he did.

"Well.. What's Arrow Creek?" Stiles asked, holding out a piece of paper to Priest.

"What?" There was a severity in his tone that made Isaac and Stiles both take a step back.

"Arrow Creek. He wrote it down when he was giving me the dog information. He left it on the counter." Priest snatched the paper away staring at it.

"Oh my god."


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh my god."

Priest's ears rang as the profound and horrifying thought solidified itself in his mind. His hands shook slightly, and he scrubbed them up and down his face so Stiles and Isaac wouldn't notice the miniscule tremors.

_Tobias knows._ The thought shook him to his very core as his mind tried to wrap itself around what he had just been told. It didn't make sense. It was impossible. Well, clearly it wasn't impossible, but it sure as hell was taking it's sweet time computing in his mind. There should be no way for Tobias and his group to know about Arrow Creek. They'd taken so many measures! There were backup plans for the backup plans to ensure that it was never discovered. He sucked a shaky breath through his teeth.

"I need a phone." His voice was abrupt and the tone left little room for argument - or so one would think. Stiles and Isaac stared at him with matching wary expressions. His eyes narrowed slightly and he stifled a growl in his throat, muffling it before it could escape. "I need to use a phone." He repeated, with more emphasis. Rubbing his neck impatiently, he waited as Stiles fished a cell phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen.

"Thanks." he muttered quickly, dialing the long since memorized number. As the droning sound of the dial tone came from the speaker the first time, he stepped away from Stiles and Isaac, moving as far away from them as he could while staying in the same room. Two rings later, and he heard the static that meant the phone had been answered, but there was no voice. He counted to five before finally speaking. "Tá sé Sagart."

_"Priest?"_ It was a woman's voice, and her tone was colored with relief. The sound of a familiar voice lifted a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't known was there as the corners of his lips turned upwards in a smile.

"Yeah, it's me." He replied, though nearly as soon as he did, the reason for his calling her reasserted itself in his mind, and the grin faded. "Listen, I need you to put my brother on the phone. It's important."

_"Where the hell were you!?"_ She demanded, her relief fading and giving way to anger. _"Out of nowhere you just dropped off the map. What happened? You didn't meet up with us.. we thought.. we thought.."_ On a better day, when he wasn't concerned with Tobias knowing the _one thing_ he wasn't supposed to know, Priest would've understood. He'd have been sympathetic, given her the answers she wanted, then would've politely asked to speak to his brother. There could be no such consideration during this call.

"Keira!" he snapped, forceful enough to cut off the phrase that had made it's beginnings and to make Stiles' and Isaac's hearts jump. "I don't have time for this right now. It's an emergency. Put. My. Brother. On. The. Phone."

The line went silent for a moment, and he heard muffled talking in the background as Jo set the phone down to go find who he needed to talk to. He turned his neck to look at the two behind him. He wondered absently if either of them knew that neither one of them were any good at pretending they hadn't been staring.

_"Silas?"_ Priest jumped at the sound of his real name, the name that only a few people ever actually called him. He pressed the phone to his ear and couldn't help but to smile. Merely hearing his brother's voice calmed him. Perhaps it was ingrown as childish faith, but to him it felt as if it would always be okay now, just because of that sound, the one that meant safety and protection.

He in no way missed the way Isaac's head snapped toward him upon hearing the voice. Moving his finger, he turned the volume on the phone down to barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me. Look, we have a serious problem." He started, but was interrupted by a sardonic, bark-like laugh that his brother had adopted in the past few years.

_"I think it'd be faster if you listed the non-serious problems we have right now."_

"Good point. But this is the most serious one right now. We need to evacuate Arrow Creek as soon as possible. Tobias knows where it is, and since he knows that, it's a safe bet that he knows what's there." Priest practically felt the tension on the line, he certainly heard the sharp intake of breath. His mind filled in the images of the way the other man's muscles no doubt tensed up, that little line forming along the scar on his clenched jaw. When he replied, his voice was terse.

_"Alright. I'll send John and Jayce to get them out of there. Then we'll head south and try to find a new location."_

"No good. Tobias caught up with me. One of his group got my bag, which means he got my maps. And if you haven't already, you guys need to change the radio frequency. It'll be best if you loop back and head for Longview. Saw it when I was scouting things out. 'S kind of shady, but people won't ask questions."

_"Alright. You said Tobias caught up with you. Are you okay?"_ Though the concern in his brother's voice was genuine, Priest couldn't help but to snort.

"Aww.. You worried 'bout your baby brother?" He teased, which earned him a soft growl through the phone. "I'm fine now. Wasn't so sure for awhile, but I've lived through worse. Had some help and was unconscious for about half a week, so I'm told. I actually have stitches, so yay for new experiences. I should be able to take them out in a few hours or so. Got some new scars though, really wish that the bastards would stop using Wolfsbane laced weapons, but what are ya gonna do?" He knew full well that he was rambling, mainly because he was steeling himself against what was coming.

_"Well once you're able to travel again, you can meet up with us."_

"You aren't going to want me to leave here." The reluctance practically rolled off him in waves as he braced himself.

_"And why not?"_

Priest took a long, slow breath. "Because I'm in Beacon Hills." He heard the hitched breath, and he wasn't sure if he was hearing his brother's heartbeat speed up, of if it was his imagination. He decided to withold trying to figure it out in order to speak before the request turned into an order."That's where Tobias caught up with me. I was trying to get to Westbrook and was running out of time so I went for the straight shot. According to the people that helped me, I've been unconscious for four days. And Tobias just showed up. Did his signature not-so-veiled threat and left."

_"Even more reason to get you the hell out of there."_ Came the insistant reply, a blended tone of anger, concern, and agitation. Then an order: _"Silas, I want you out of there as soon as you're fit to travel."_

"Think about it for god's sakes!" Priest nearly yelled into the phone, biting the bullet. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler, but still firm. "I understand the clouded judgement, I do. But just stop and think about it, what I've told you and what you already know. I've been unconscious for four days according to the people who helped me, and Tobias just made a little show a few minutes ago, which means that he's been in town for four days." He paused, letting it sink in a bit before he continued.

"Now, there's a lot you can say about the psychopath, but he's a smart sonofabitch. Why would he tell us that he knows about Arrow Creek. If he wanted to take it out, he would've just done so and we never would known what happened. Instead, he gave us warning, knowing full well we'd rush to defend it. It's a distraction. He's been in Beacon Hills for four days. If he hasn't already, you and I both know that it's not exactly a stretch for him to put two and two together. You and I both also know that he would not hesitate a second to _decimate_ this town to get to you. If he puts the pieces together, then this town is going to need some protection" He ignored the sound of Stiles snorting behind him "and someone to tell them what's going on. If you make me leave, then you risk putting dozens of people in the path of a lunatic with absolutely no defense and they wouldn't have a clue why. So if you want to order me back to the rest of the group, then do it. But if you do, I'm telling you, you will regret it."

There was silence for at least a full minute before he heard his brother heave a sigh that mingled with a growl.

_"Why this? Why now? There' a reason I didn't want you going through Beacon Hills. Every single person in that town is now in danger."_ Priest was silent. How was one to respond to that anyway? No apology in the entire world would cut it, and he felt safe in the assumption that pointing out that had he not got stuck in Beacon Hills, Tobias would've just launched an undoubtedly fatal surprise attack on Arrow Creek instead of giving them this short heads up was a less than stellar idea. He was spared trying to talk again by the sound of Stiles' behind him.

"Hey. Uhm. Just curious, but you mentioned all of us being in the path of a lunatic?" Priest turned toward him, face taking an odd expression of amused disbelief and awkward confusion. "Any elaboration on that bit?"

_"Silas..."_ His brothers voice, filled with an unfamilar tension he could scarcely identify, drew his attention away from the human. _"Where are you, exactly? Who... who was that?"_

"W-well.. that'd be.. see.." All of the sudden, words didn't seem to make any sense to the young alpha. "The people that helped me.. Saved me, really... It's the local pack here. I'm at the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic with these two guys.. Isaac and Stiles."

There was a long silence in which everything was silent, to the extent that all Priest could hear was the hum of the AC and the sounds of three hearts beating.

_"Fine. Stay in Beacon Hills. Keep an eye on things and keep Tobias in the dark as long as possible. But I'm sending Keira and Alex to you. Do what you would do for a safe zone. Set up a perimeter, and keep someone running it at all times."_

A small voice in Preist's mind, mainly the part that was controlled by the alpha inside him, wanted to growl and retort with something along the lines of "I know how to set up a safe zone. I'm not an idiot." Instead, he caught himself and replied in a respectful manner. "Alright. Tell them not to howl when they get here though. I don't want to have to go another round with Tobias quite yet. Have them go to the hospital, and I'll come to them. I'll work it out after that."

There wasn't a reply, just a gruff sound of agreement and silence as the call was ended. Priest licked the corner of his lip before wiping the number from Stiles' phone and handing it back to him.

The semi-awkward silence in the room was almost palpable, so when Stiles spoke for the first time since the call ended, his voice cut through the examination room air like a hot knife through butter.

"So, tell me. You're an alpha, and you seem to take orders from your brother, so he must be an alpha too, right? So is he your twin or..." The question dangled in the air for a moment, and during that moment, it appeared as if Priest hadn't even heard the question, before he finally answered, angling his body back toward the two.

"No, he's not my twin. He's actually several years older than me." He threw in a fond sort of smirk, "But even before he was an alpha, he was always the boss of me." He felt a flash of guilt for the way he'd referred to the brother that he'd disobeyed and, in a way, betrayed. So he shut his mouth and leaned against the examination table, rubbing absently at the stitches on his hip.

"You mind sharing whatever all that was about?" Isaac asked, his tone skeptical and his eyebrow arched in a quizzical expression that was, in an odd sort of way, almost comical. For a second, Priest was worried. Had Isaac picked up on his guilt? It took him a moment to realize that he was talking about the yelling and aggression on the phone.

"I can't do that." Was his short reply as he scrubbed his hands over his face once and turned his back to the pair, glancing at his slightly distorted reflection in the mirror.

"And why not?" The timbre in Isaac's voice shifted from curious inquisitive to distrustingly interrogatory. Priest made a slow about face and replied in a steady voice:

"Because, right now, all this information is on a need to know basis. And as of right now, you don't need to know. The less you know, the safer you, your pack, and everybody you've ever cared about are. Listen to my heartbeat and you'll know I'm not lying to you. Knowing is dangerous."

The silence that followed had the feel of a rubber band stretched tight and about to be snapped. The snap came from the jingling bell of the front door followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Well, you're up and moving already, so I suppose that's good." Priest's eyes snapped toward the man. He was dark skinned, early fifties, human, the other scent he'd caught earlier, but none of that really mattered. His mind abolished conscious thought for a few seconds as he lost himself in the peculiar look in the man's eyes. They were kind, abundantly so, but behind them was so much knowledge and experience, so much so that for a brief moment he was both afraid and calmed.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was Dr. Alan Deaton. He blinked once, twice, before regaining his senses and nodding.

"Yeah." He coughed and swallowed roughly. "Yeah, I'm fine now. Thanks."

"I'd hardly classify you as 'fine.'" Deaton replied as he set his car keys on a hook above the counter and turned to face him.

"What do you mean? I'm a whole hell of a lot better than I was a couple days ago."

"I didn't say you weren't better. I said you weren't fine." Priest tilted his head as the vet stepped toward him, a kind smile in place. "You blacked out at the hospital because of internal bleeding that hadn't healed properly. When you were brought in here, I had to stitch the artery closed. There was evidence of several past bleeds that were never treated that managed to heal on their own.."

The alpha nodded slowly, unsure of how he was expected to react to this news. "While you were still unconscious, I took the liberty of doing some x-rays and found at least eight fractures that never healed properly. To be quite honest, I have no clue how you're functioning, let alone taking on whatever hunters did this." The genuine concern in the older man's voice was alien to Priest, and he reacted with the defensive sarcasm he was so used to using as he threw on a smirk.

"It's not so much functioning as it is being held together with duct tape and glue." He chuckled lowly, ignoring the stab of pain in his abdomen. It wasn't as severe as it had been before, so he decided to take it as a positive and did his best to not flinch. "Thank you for the help but.. I have to go."

"You just came out of a mini-coma. Are you sure taking off is a good idea right now?" Isaac asked, arching an eyebrow at Priest and tilting his head slightly.

"Don't have much of a choice."

"Then I hope you don't mind company." He said simply, shrugging and stepping forward.

"Think you can keep up?" Priest asked, a playful smirk puling itself across his lips as he straightened his shoulders some and met Isaac's advancement.

"With a guy who weights a buck fifty soaking wet and just regained consciousness? Yeah, I think my odds of keeping up are pretty good."

"We'll just have to see about that, now won't we?"


End file.
